


Bluebell Extract

by Alois_Zirconia



Series: Complete Alois Zirconia Collection [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Healing, Kissing, M/M, Original Character(s), Possessiveness, Potions, Punishment, Torture, creature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alois_Zirconia/pseuds/Alois_Zirconia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alois and Lucifer go through their usual routine after Lucifer gets punished by his father. Lucifer is possessive. A little twisted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bluebell Extract

**Author's Note:**

> This won't explain anything, and will probs leave you with questions, tbh. It's just a shortie. I wonder if you could unveil the plot by reading all my shorties.........?

As the stroke of twelve was heard throughout the school of Extron, a boy with glowing turquoise eyes snuck in my room. "You didn't have to come." He puts several glass vials down at the side of my bed. "Oh, shut up," He growls. His eyes glow up a notch. As always.

We have had this conversation several times this semester, yet he never changes intentions. Not many people would have noticed the slight change in my step, the lighter swing of the bag on my shoulder. Yet he did. He looked at me with that look, the one which left no say.

I could not have known the first time he walked in through those doors. When he sat down next to me, when I had given up on annoying him, just sat. He didn't ask. He just sat next to me, book in one hand and bag in the other.

And that was enough.

He picks a vial and almost shoves it in my face. Purple. This one burns, I think to myself as he opens the bottle. He gently places it in my hand and bends down for another. I down the purple one and he hands me another.

Blue.  
Orange.  
Pink.  
Green.  
Silver. Silver?

"Silver?" I ask him, frowning. He sighs. "Learn the damn names." I shrug. "This one is for the burns on your face, and probably everywhere else too." He makes a motion with his hand, and obeying, I down it. "It's bluebell extract, by the way." "What's the blue one then?" He picks up the empty vials and places them on the nightstand. "I already told you. It's angel feathers with mermaid tears, for the cursed cuts."

It won't help, I think quietly. He glares at me.

He can read thoughts. That, at least, I knew when I saw him. His eyes are the weirdest thing. They can be soothing, annoying, happy, angry, scared and scary. Pretty much like everyone's else's then, you think. But no. Not at all. I've grown up being one of the main plagues of my father. I know the pain of salt, venom and a cursed blade by now. But father's eyes were so scary. When he punished me, I did all I could to not look him in the eye. I was always scared of those bottomless, black eyes. Until I came here. For fathers eyes are nothing compared to the fiery turquoise orbs hanging in mid-air in front of me.

Nothing.

So why do I anger him, you think. No. They are like a coin. Two sides. It can be the happiest wishing wells, filled with peace one moment..And then those. The orbs. They glow with his rage, reserved only for me. It makes me happy.

But......

 

I can't decide.

The glowing orbs are reserved for me, they are Mine. But..the bliss when he looks upon me in kindness. It's not mine. Not reserved for me. But they are so kind. So utterly, amazingly, wonderfully kind! But..

It's not mine.

And I don't like sharing him.

So I tick him off.  
Annoy him. I act like an arse. So the orbs return.  
My Orbs.

He quietly sits down on my bed, breaking me out of my thoughts. He looks upon me. His eyes shine down, slowly, till they are only vivid. Unfortunately. "You'll have to burn the sheets," he says quietly. I glance to my half-red clothes and bed. "Fuck the sheets," I grumble. He chuckles. "Take off your shirt." I obey. He leans forward, drawing me in with his scent and damn hormones until I am in an upright position. Taking advantage, he sits on my legs, running his smooth fingers over my scars and wounds. I meet his gaze. His eyes are burning with lust, barely keeping it from spilling all over me. He kissed me, lips closing over mine. It was a special kind of death. It hurt so exquisitely.

 

Why are moths continually drawn to a flame?

 

Maybe they like being burnt.


End file.
